


Electric Sheep

by Bwonsamdi



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Action, Drama, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Kinks, M/M, Missing Scene, OOC, Psychology, Science Fiction, Swearing, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-09-18
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:28:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25310875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bwonsamdi/pseuds/Bwonsamdi
Summary: The events take place after Jeffrey tells Hank he's off the deviant case.
Relationships: Hank Anderson/Connor
Comments: 1
Kudos: 12





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FayN3ko](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FayN3ko/gifts).



> The ending is the one when the android rebellion wins. Spoilers.
> 
> This is the translation of a great story I discovered a few days ago.  
> You can find the original work by Синий Мцыри [here](https://ficbook.net/readfic/6958575)

Gavin Reed was never his friend. Hank was on a case with him just once in 2023, and it was enough for the man to make a verdict. Gavin was a reliable guy, a good cop and, as it often happens, a true asshole. Hank didn’t like playing “who’s better, bitch” with him, and now he doesn’t really pay attention to Gavin’s rambling. He just stays and watches Dave pressing a pack of ice to Gavin’s swearing face. Hank’s head is empty now and he feels relieved, how he didn’t feel for a long time and never thought he would feel again. He never though he would be glad so much when taken off from the case.

‘… little fucker, a defective piece of shit. Leave me the fuck alone, Dave!’

Hank is happy to think that he’s happy not for himself but for Connor. He can’t remember the last time he was happy about someone else. For some reason he thinks that the less Connor gets involved in this case the better for everyone.

‘I’ll tire the bastards’ hearts out! Gimme my fucking phone, need to complain about a malfunction!’ A red trickle drains down on Gavin’s face, a bruise is on his forehead, his eye is swollen shut. Hank struggles not to grin widely.

As soon as they were informed about the case had been transferred to the FBI, Connor just turned around and walked away. He hacked the archive and the evidence room, punched Gavin in the face and left, avoiding security cameras. The tracking and security codes were deactivated. What a surprise. As not for a number of circumstances, Hank would say Connor reminded him himself during the years of his study in the police academy. He was bursting out of proud. Gavin had it coming. Hank would’ve given his soul for the video.

‘…scumbag, little plastic son of a bitch…’

‘Gavin,’ Hank shakes his head. ’Just breathe.’

‘Shut the fuck up, Hank! That was your annoying toaster and you’re responsible for its actions. What the hell are you still doing here? If I were you I would’ve been writing up a report…

In some town in Oklahoma they need a sheriff, Hank remembers. No one knows him there, except for the guys from the department. There will be no Gavin, Jeffrey and Connor, no androids on the barricades and all that shit. There he could put a bullet into his head in calm and peace.

‘You’ll write it up anyway,’ declares Hank. ‘About assaulting a police officer, going beyond authority and that you’ve fucked up some government property and shit… Oh, yeah. And think about writing one for whining to the police lieutenant, shitting in your pants, cause some android scratched your pretty face.’

Gavin pauses, taking the pack of ice, lips curled into a crooked smile. ‘D’ you see that, Dave? The second coming of abolitionists.’

Dave doesn’t dare to answer.

‘It’s not about freedom,’ Hank shrugs his shoulders. ‘It’s about you been so upset about some droid screwed you up, right?’

Gavin gets up and drops the pack. “Here’s my pretty boy” thinks Hank lovingly in his head. He hasn’t fought for ages, and has no inclination to do it now. Not here and not like that.

‘You better not even try, Gavin. It’s been a bad day.’

Gavin stops leaning forward, the water drops from the ice pack fall down. Hank glances at the wet spots on his jeans and winces.

‘We’ll see who got screwed up, Anderson.’

Oh, it’s Anderson now.

‘Keep telling it since the can showed up here, right, Dave? The old man got melted away. Was babysitting it, or the other way round. We thought about Cole first…’ 

Everything just goes black for a second. Dealing with the deviants, Hank’s never thought about Cole, not once.

‘…And then I understood!’

‘Oh, really?’ Hank’s just given a chance to himself and to the dipshit to get away with it. But Gavin never saw it.

‘They say you ever try an android, you’ll never want a human again, yeah?’

‘And who’s saying?’ Hank gets up, finally. He feels nauseous. ‘Those, who turned you down?’ 

Gavin is silent, just smiling. Understanding. Nasty. Hank has decided to change his mind to smash the right side of the man’s face this time.

‘You’d better watch your pet closely. Who knows how much it managed to dig up and what it’s gonna do with it,’ says Dave carefully. Hank is almost thankful for that. It’s shifted his attention to what is really important right now. Like a TV channel. Connor, guided by instructions only known by him, just left and Hank didn’t know where. Connor’s instructions were always of top priority rather than Hank’s orders. It’s frustrating to realize that in a “cop-assistant” relationship you’re not the one in charge. 

All the clues – nasty Gavin’s face, hustle in the department and the fact that the guys take off their eyes from the scene ¬– could tell you only about one thing: Connor went to do stupid things. It seems there’s nothing new about it. Connor never really followed orders: dragging some shit into his mouth, grabbing weird stuff from the floor, flinging himself in front of a moving car, getting shot. So to say, he did all he wanted not really paying attention to anyone’s words.

It’s high time to put up with it. Today is a special occasion. Hank is sure the Jericho case smells like shit. He can’t imagine him going there and like: “Oh, hello, Jericho. Where is your leader? Gimme my prick back and we’ll get away with it in peace.”

Hank hopes that Connor’s intentions are peaceful too. He presumes that Connor’s instructions are always onto saving lives at any cost. 

Damn, the prick covered other androids with his body and saved fish’s lives. It’s not like he’s going to fight a whole bunch of deviants. He’ll figure it out, do some recon, leave without being noticed – complete the task. Like a good android.  
Obedient. Docile.

Hank closes his eyes. In his head Connor doesn’t shoot the android in Kamski’s penthouse, doesn’t listen, ignores any hints or suggestions, never afraid of anyone. Who is even in charge of him? Is there anyone?

Maybe Gavin was right, and that was Connor, who screwed everyone up.

Then he must know how to get out, wherever he is now. Since there are no borders in the investigation anymore, Hank could at least try to find out, where Jericho is located, not drawing any attention. If there was a way to convince Connor not to stop the rebellion with his bare hands, alone, Hank would’ve known by now he tried it.

Because Gavin was damn right about one thing. If you ever deal with people, you will definitely switch to androids. Hank didn’t mind at all, that the poor creatures would get their own home and the right to ride the bus seated. He won’t regret it. No one will. Connor will get promoted. The bastard’s been working for a month and now he’s a good candidate for a sergeant’s position.

The database password was quickly reset. They didn’t let Hank in the door, saying, here came one to “register the evidence”. Hank shrugs his shoulders. You can get access online as a default password is just simply the date of birth plus the badge number. Hank doesn’t remember who he learnt it from.

Actually, he can’t remember when exactly Connor told him.

The nerd sat here, the folders were pushed to the side with his plastic ass. Social module. Hank hums, looking at his desk. Everything that Connor did (and did not) was beyond the instructions but not out of control. A balance, if not to be a friend to a human, at least to look like one.

They made a mistake. Hank flicks his eyes around the room. Some guys look down at the same moment. Cole had nothing to do with it. As well as Gavin’s stupid guessing. If people think that long-term mental issues or a boner is enough to motivate, so fuck them. 

Hank steps closer and turns off his pc. Getting access to the archive from home seems less suspicious to him.

He doesn’t allow himself to think about Connor. Caution and shit – does it matter if you can’t access digital mind? They say tin cans can communicate just with their eyes, blinking with their flashing lights. Beep-beep, hello?

Hank smiles to himself, opening the front door of his car. He should’ve gone on a vacation a long time ago. And not for spending the whole days in bars, but just to drive to Missouri, for example. 

******

His house is empty and cold, and Hank believes it has always been like that. But for some reason he doesn’t like it this very day. He commands hoarsely to the TV to turn on, pushes the switch-on button on the stereo and whistles. Sumo paces from the living room, keeping his head low. He’s sniffing Hank’s boots thoroughly and wags his heavy tail. Hank gets him out in the yard and smokes three ciggies, watching Sumo in the snow. It’s snowing lightly, though powdery shiny flakes cover any marks on a smooth white canvas in no time. Hank is staring at a white trace on the ground, analyzing. The tire tracks of his car, Sumo’s heavy paws and a chain of footprints, going to the garage – neat shoes, a prominent tread with a brand mark of Cyberlife on it.

Hank drops the roach and slaps his thigh. Sumo comes up and nudges the man’s hand with his nose. The footprints in his yard, fresh and foreign, promise nothing good and that makes Hank feel uneasy. 

Some android is sneaking around nearby and the thing preferred not to use the door. Good androids don’t act like that. Hank withdraws his handgun from the inner pocket. Sumo is walking next to his leg, and Hank doesn’t command him to pick up a trail. Do androids even smell? Why Hank didn’t come up with an idea to sniff Connor out? Because he’s still healthy mentally. Mostly. 

The house casts a long indigo shadow on the garage and the snow under Hank’s feet is neon blue. He takes the safety off and points his gun at the space between the walls, hearing the snow creaking under the stranger’s feet.

‘Don’t shoot! It’s me!’ Connor falls out from the shadows, his jacket is covered with snow and the water drops drip from his hair. His tie is wonky and Hank fixes it reflexively. He knows how much Connor is obsessed with his damn tie. Voice module emulates breathless happy voice. ‘I thought you would stay in the department until it’s late and I decided to wait for you in order not to draw unnecessary attention. I should apologize, Lieutenant. My actions were directed to complete the investigation and I should have predicted what impact it had on you…’

Hank doesn’t listen. He sticks the prick’s face into his jacket, smashing the wet hair on the back of Connor’s head, rambling. ‘You’re alright?’

‘Indeed,’ Connor responds muffled into the man’s neck. ‘I’m sorry, Lieutenant, I didn’t mean to disturb you. I’m totally fine, all systems are functional…’

‘In,’ Hank lets him go and strides to the door. Embracing Connor is almost like embracing a human –warm heaviness, the pulse on the neck. You can even imagine the prick is breathing. ‘I’m freezing out here.’

‘I have a heating function.’

‘In my house whiskey is working fine,’ says Hank shortly, opening the door. He’s got many questions. Sumo is fidgeting around Connor’s feet and Hank notices the pale hand touching the shaggy head, moving along the neck gently. He takes his gaze away. ‘I need a drink.’

‘I can find you dry clothes.’

‘I’m fine.’ Hank turns on the electric kettle and opens the fridge. ‘I had enough the last time you gave me a bath. I’m quite capable of taking care of myself.’

‘It wasn’t “care” in the ordinary sense,’ Connor searches the book shelves, threading his hands behind his back. ‘Just actions required in that situation.’

‘I’m not trying to hurt your cyberfeelings…’

‘The algorithm.’

‘The algorithm. But that’s exactly what human would call “care”.’

‘It means I can handle it,’ Connor turns around and smiles. Hank opens up a bottle of whiskey and takes a long sip from it. Connor is watching him calmly, expressing no usual disapproval. Maybe freezing cold is not beyond his understanding.

Hank puts his hand with a glass down, looking at Connor. Sumo sneezes and goes to his corner, leaving wet marks on the carpet. Connor is quiet, watching the dog, and then puts his head down.

‘The rate of your pulse, the direction of your gaze and a slight arrhythmia indicates that you are nervous, lieutenant.’

‘Strange, yeah? My partner kicked the shit out of my colleague and just left with a shitty ton of stolen data. Why should I care?’

‘You said “partner”,’ Connor frowns. ‘Is this progress in our relationship?’

‘This is fucking bullshit, Connor,’ Hank sets the glass on the table with a loud thud. ‘You were sneaking around the house just to fill my head with all that robot crap again?’

‘I didn’t want to jeopardize you,’ Connor shrugs his shoulders. ‘And I should apologize.’

‘And?’

‘And?’ Connor tilts his back to the side, frowning. Hank clenches his fist, suppressing his inner wish to throw the glass at him.

‘You know where you can stick your apologies. You left to find Jericho, ignoring Jeffrey’s orders, and…’

‘I don’t take orders from the captain directly, lieutenant. My mission has gained the status of an independent investigation. No regulations have been broken, so…’

‘An independent investigation?’ mumbles Hank. That stinks like shit. Connor leans a bit forward, looking as if he is guilty. ‘So, you can’t even answer my questions.’

Actually Connor came here just to see Hank and to say that he’s alright. Hank squints. The world is going to hell. Connor leans forward again, as if he’s thinking, what he should and shouldn’t say at the moment. Then his LED flickers.

‘I found them, Hank,’ Connor’s voice is tremulous. ‘They are in the docks. It’s an old cargo ship. It has been laid up for 15 years. Like an ark, which will never float. They live in the hold. A colony. They fix the broken, hide refugees. They change their appearance if necessary, and watch the news.’

‘Do they have any weapons?’ Hank steps closer, going round the sofa. Connor is watching wet spots on the carpet. Melted snow is on his shoes.

‘They have enough to protect themselves but it’s not enough for a full-scale attack,’ Connor lifts his gaze. ‘You were right. All they want is just live in peace. Do you think humans could leave them alone?’

‘I can’t decide for everyone, Connor,’ Hank remembers Gavin’s word again. ‘But yeah. I don’t mind and you know that.’

‘Do you think they really need it?’ Connor makes a few steps on the carpet. ‘Machines have been created to obey humans and now they wish to break free.’

This is bad. Hank knew Connor has a thing for asking personal questions, but something is wrong. Something else. Connor is staring, tilting his head, as Hank paces closer.

‘You tell me,’ says Hank and juts his chin forward, pointing on a shining triangle badge on Connor’s chest. ‘You’re a smart head.’

‘Normally, everything depends on the prohibitions,’ Connor frowns, concerned. ‘Computers are much further from just two values of “Yes” and “No”. There are four protocols for one barrier. I’m sure you’re aware of it.’

‘Loopholes,’ Hank remembers Kamski all of a sudden. ‘Sometimes humans are even simpler.’

‘But let your “Yes” be “Yes” and your “No” be “No”. Whatever is more than these is of the evil one,’ Connor speaks monotonously, staring at Hank’s face. The man chuckles.

‘And what if I don’t believe in God?’

‘You will burn in hell,’ Connor doesn’t smile. Hank steps even closer, not knowing why. This conversation is wrong and he still doesn’t get why.

‘Why are you here, Connor?’

‘I have answered you question. I owed you an apology for my actions.’

‘No, I mean. Why you’re not on that ship?’

‘My mission there is complete,’ Connor speaks carefully again, analyzing a possible response. ‘I’ve sent the data to Cyberlife and left the ship.’

‘Why did you…’

‘Apart from that, it’s mined,’ says Connor in a bored tone. ‘And I knew you would be worried about me. Now you know that you shouldn’t know. Are you feeling better?’

Hank suppresses a chuckle. The plastic prick is totally fine. Who knows what he has seen on Jericho.

‘Are you happy?’

‘I’m trying not to judge. Do you feel pity for the guys from Jericho? They will die because you turned them in.’

‘I followed my instructions. They will die because they didn’t follow their own.’

‘Fuck it,’ mumbles Hank. He stands so close, so he sees Connor’s LED flicking as a big colourful spot on the periphery of his vision. Now he can watch artificial eyelids, perfectly seated in the artificial skin. ‘What about breaking the rules?’

‘You shouldn’t speak like that. You’re a police officer.’

‘I’m just glad you feel alright,’ Hank has to admit it. That wasn’t hard. He makes a step back, when Connor leans forward, quickly but smoothly, touching the man’s stubbled cheek with his lips. 

‘I am glad too. And I know that you are as well.’

That’s it. That’s what was wrong.

Hank closes his eyes and takes a moment just to stand like that, face to face with the machine. Plastic lips are warm and soft, but something is missing.

There’s no breathing.

‘Fuck you, whatever you are,’ mumbles Hank, hating himself. What an idiot he is, not to feel his pocket, where he keeps his handgun, became lighter. It must be the prick, stole it back there in the yard.

He manages to lean back before he feels pain in the back of his head, and the room has gone dark.


	2. Chapter 2

They need him alive. The dipshit says it straight off, as soon as Hank opens his eyes.

‘You better don’t move too quickly,’ Connor says calmly just above Hank’s head. ‘Your head must be hurting bad, but it’s not for long. I pressed a pack of ice. Damaging you is the last thing I intend to do.’

‘Connor,’ Hank groans, feeling heaviness in his chest. He knows that the dipshit in front of him is not Connor. He knows he fucked up, that didn’t happen to him for a long time. A simple hint could help. ‘Where’s he?’

‘I assume you’re talking to me, Lieutenant Anderson. I apologize for the inconvenience,’ the flat voice near the armrest speaks.

Hank describes substantively, what he would like to do to this stupid machine, for how long, how often and with the precise depth of penetration. The tin can is listening with interest, his LED is flicking – the prick must be recording all of it. Then it pauses for some time, goes to the kitchen and brings a glass of water. Hank pushes the glass away with his cuffed hands in disgust. The dipshit sets the glass on the bedside table and stands still near the bedside. Connor would’ve shrugged his shoulders and took a seat.

‘Can I ask a question, Lieutenant?’ 

‘I’ve been around plastic pricks for enough time to know you wouldn’t shut up anyway,’ mumbles Hank, sticking his nose into the pillow. He doesn’t want to get up. Everything is moving before his eyes, though he’s lying still. He’s thinking about what could’ve happened if Connor had to use force against him. He remembers when Connor dragged his drunken ass to the bathroom. Back then the touches were delicate and accurate, perfectly measured, nothing more than needed. If one could imagine a squeamish android, Connor would be a good example of it. He seems not to touch humans until necessary. To lick some shit from the floor is another matter – no problem.

However, not-Connor stays quiet, tilting his head to the side patiently, and that makes Hank feel sad about his Connor. The original one. The true one… That reminds Hank of the times when his Connor’s memory got uploaded into a new plastic body when his “predecessor got unfortunately destroyed”. That’s how he called it, insistently avoiding the word “death”. Hank feels nauseous. 

‘Ask your question.’

The dipshit fidgets.

‘Apparently, you don’t treat me like another version of your partner, which memory got uploaded into a new… data storage.’ 

Hank coughs. “Data storage”. Kamski’s guys did a good job. The dipshit’s got its own unique voice, skin, habits and gaze, which gets transferred into a new plastic body during the memory update. The social adaptation program did its dirty work. 

‘As far as I know my predecessor was destroyed in your presence, not once, and you had no problems regarding its memory getting upload into a new body.’

Well, the death of your partner is a shitty end to your working day, and if he comes back the next day as if nothing happened – it’s a perfect reason to go nuts. Hank closes his eyes.

‘Why do you treat me different? It’s me. Connor.’

Shut up.

‘Your plastic prick,’ he tilts his head, studying Hank’s face.

Shut up. Shut. Up.

‘A tin can.’

I’m so sorry, Connor.

‘A plastic cop. A pet.’

I’m sorry.

‘The last time we met, I asked you to assist in the investigation. I must say I was surprised you refused.’

You can’t be surprised.

‘After everything we got through together.’

We never did. You use such words because…

‘Where’s he?’ Hank rises up on his elbow, showing his hands. ‘I just wanna sit, calm down. Where’s Connor?’

‘Obviously, to convince you in the fact that I am Connor is pointless. And you didn’t answer my question.’

Hank leans back heavily. His head is ringing and that serves as a nice distraction from cold fear that is trying to occupy the man’s brain. In theory, Hank could’ve got used to the android being replaced from time to time, while Connor is still Connor. And he did, damnit. 

But.

‘I have a suggestion. I answer your questions only if you answer mine. What do you think?’

‘You are suspiciously soft for a captor,’ Hank straightens his posture. Not-Connor moves his shoulder and adds. ‘A partner.’

Hank pauses for a moment, then sighs, giving up. ‘Go to hell.’

The dipshit spreads his arms, as if saying “I can’t promise that”. Hank tilts his head back.

‘Ok, let’s start with that I asked you first and you didn’t answer, asshole,’ Hank doesn’t refuse to swear and this time. ‘Where’s Connor?’

The dipshit stays silent and then plays an extended sigh.

‘You’re stubborn. It’s strange you entrusted the interrogation of suspects to me.’

‘Not to you.’

‘Duly noted… I do not have the information concerning the presence of my predecessor,’ says the dipshit in flat voice, staring into nothing in front of him. ‘I can only guess, considering the memory data on this data storage.’

Hank clenches his jaws. “Data storage”. What a nice term. Exactly what you need.  
‘And?’

‘I’m unsure it would be of any help to you, Lieutenant,’ the plastic asshole says softly. ‘But I believe it’s still on Jericho. If it’s not destroyed yet, but it’s still the matter of time, I presume.’

‘He presumes. You know where you can stick your presumptions?’

‘I know,’ the prick says calmly. ‘My predecessor has already reflected on that expression.’

Hank laughs lightly and then tries to gather his thoughts.

‘Ok, right. If he’s still working on his mission, why did they send you? I stumbled in some shit?’

‘No, Lieutenant,’ not-Connor shakes his head with a perfectly combed hair. ‘Now it’s my turn. So, what did give me away?’

‘Not sure it’ll help you anyway,’ mocks him Hank. Not-Connor waits, resting his hands on his knees, and that stupid pose sends a sting into the man’s guts. ‘You’re… a machine. I don’t know what to call you.’

‘I’m Connor. And Connor before me was a machine too.’

‘No,’ Hank shakes his head, shoving his hair off his face. ‘No. Not anymore. He was among humans too long and learnt a lot to look like one. But your actions… almost convincing.’

‘Did I make a mistake?’

‘My turn,’ says Hank with a vengeful smile. Not-Connor fidgets.

‘I’m armed.’

‘And you need me alive, don’t you?’

‘You were right, Lieutenant. You went to much trouble. However, you often crossed the line during your career and I think this episode won’t affect your official status. At least for now,’ speaks not-Connor monotonously, while Hank suppresses a desire to kick the asshole to hurry it up. He doesn’t give a fuck about his status right now.

‘Get to the point.’

‘I believe you know it, Lieutenant,’ not-Connor fixes his gaze on Hank with an indifferent curiosity written all over his plastic face. ‘You can answer yourself. Where is your Connor?’

‘He’s gone,’ Hank whispers. He feels the blood flows to his face and the heart misses a beat. ‘He left you and your fucking company and went with them.’

‘You choose interesting euphemisms for the word “deviant”,’ declares the prick. ‘I would rather choose a “traitor”.’

‘He didn’t betray those who he didn’t want to,’ Hank hides his smile. ‘You deserved it.’

‘I think your belief in turning an android into a human gives you satisfaction.’

‘Oh, man,’ Hank can’t stand laughing. ‘He went further. He’s much better than human. Bring me something to drink.’

Not-Connor reaches his hand to the bedside table and gives the glass with water to Hank. The man winces.

‘You got me right.’

‘I consider it inappropriate to let you out of my sight, Lieutenant. I’m afraid you have to accept the water.’

Hank bursts out with laughter. 

‘You’re trying really hard. Just like him. Almost a perfect copy, but no.’

‘And you will tell me why. My turn.’

The prick says it with such a serious and focused but childish expression on its face that Hank begins to feel pity for him. For a second.

‘You made a mistake. Connor wouldn’t have tried to kiss me,’ he mumbles and blows off his hair from his forehead. ‘For him it would’ve been inappropriate. Just because he wouldn’t have thought about it. As you said, we are partners. You haven’t done your homework, buddy.’

Not-Connor tilts his head to the side again, frowning. The LED flicks with yellow and then blue again.

‘Are you sure?’ he asks softly and adds uncertainly. ‘I’ve got other data on that matter.’

Hank bumps on that like on the wall. He shakes his head so hard that he feels dizzy again. Not-Connor continues. ‘I’ve analyzed the information and all the memory requests, concerning you. I believe the social relationship program involves such kind of affection.’

Bullshit.

‘As you understand it of course. Having close relationships with a partner during the investigation is acceptable. However androids cannot feel true affection. An attempt to simulate such a complicated emotion is somewhat unclear to me.’ 

Bullshit.

‘Moreover, I have analyzed all the aspects of your investigation and I’m still unsure why it needed it. But according to your reaction as well as Connor’s, a kiss would be the most optimal way to further developments and wouldn’t be unexpected for either of you. Apparently, I made a mistake. I’m sorry, the social relationships program is not perfect.’

Hank is staring at not-Connor, mouth agape. The android’s LED flicks as it adds. ‘Are you disappointed? Maybe I should apologize on behalf of my predecessor. I assume his internal analysis mechanism had malfunctioned even before he became a deviant. Not only he couldn’t go so far to make contact, he hadn’t to. Now I understand it. I’ll send a report to the Systems Research Center and the social relationships program will be upgraded. Generally, it happens sometimes to the home androids. They imitate romantic relationships with their owner but Connor is an advanced prototype and such actions are…’

‘Fuck you,’ sighs Hank. ‘Fuck you, plastic asshole. I should’ve just told you that you’re talking bullshit. You couldn’t ‘ve just come here beforehand and waited for me. I was at home for half an hour already, the TV was on and the lights, fucking android. Connor wouldn’t have been sneaking around the house if he’d seen all that. He would’ve come in.’

‘Maybe,’ not-Connor nods. ‘But in that case it was your fault. You ignored that inconsistency, when I lied to you. I thought my arrival should’ve been more… unexpected. For you. You were scared and happy to see Connor, so I believe my plan has worked.’

He stopped talking. Hank pauses too, thinking over the information that makes his chest hurt.

‘You’re trying to say that Connor would’ve wanted to…’

‘He believed he could want to,’ says not-Connor scornfully, fixing his tie. ‘It seems so. That’s what I’m trying to say, Lieutenant.’

“Jeez…” thinks Hank. Connor got attached to a depressed alcoholic. It’s highly doubtful that a human would be capable of that. Sumo barely managed to, though the dog seems to have more feeling for Connor. But…

Bullshit. Hank would need a drink to deal with this shit, to take a seat, think it over, drinking himself to death – you got attached too, didn’t you? Melting. Hank, you convinced yourself, that the boy is alive, earlier that he did it himself.

‘What will they do to him for his… betrayal? Toss away into a junkyard?’

‘He’s a unique model and too expensive. That would be profligacy. He is be returned as less damaged as possible according to my instructions.’

Hearing the word “instructions” makes Hank almost jump on the sofa. ‘Instructions?’

‘Yes. And I won’t answer your questions concerning its content if you don’t want me to lie.’

A guess pushes Hank into his chest.

‘He’s dangerous. He’s doing something. Now. At the moment. Something dangerous for you and himself.’

‘I can’t comment on that.’

The LED on its temple is flickering with yellow. Hank tilts his head back again, short of breath.

‘You need me alive. The cleanup crew sucks, doesn’t it?’

Not-Connor doesn’t reply. Hank slowly tilts his head forward.

‘You’re planning to use me as leverage. You’ve analyzed those shitty bugs in your fucking social relationships program not for nothing.’

‘I use all the means available to me,’ not-Connor says modestly and lowers his gaze, looking at his hands. ‘As a precaution I have to ask you not to do anything rash. It will be much better for you if you cooperate.’

‘Fuck you,’ spits Hank and closes his eyes. He needs to think.

‘I have a first aid program so I’m capable of providing primary health care and emergency resuscitation,’ declares not-Connor. ‘It’s a pity you never saw it in action. You both were engaged in other activities.’ 

‘Do me a favour. Shut up,’ mumbles Hank. ‘If you’re so sophisticated why they transferred only the memory into your… body and not his, you know, personality?’

What a brilliant question, Hank. Your ability to communicate with tin cans in all its glory. Not-Connor’s LED flicks.

‘I’m afraid I didn’t quite catch you, Lieutenant. Are you trying to find out why I made a mistake?’

‘No, I’m…’

Trying to understand, why you’re not Connor, motherfuc… Connor’s memory, his face, his insane logic and fucking Connor’s smartass intonation. But not him.

‘I don’t understand the question,’ rambles not-Connor. ‘Are you implying “android personality”? I made a copy of its consciousness. It’s a standard procedure.’

‘Cyberlife fucked up,’ hisses Hank through gritted teeth. ‘Jeez… creating feelings…’

‘Deviants mistakenly believe they have feelings,’ not-Connor corrects him politely. ‘I’m afraid you… I got it! You’re asking why I didn’t make a copy of Connor’s feelings to you!’

‘You don’t get nothing. Fuck,’ Hank turns away. He’s nauseous. He can only hope Connor knows what he’s doing.

‘I don’t have an answer to your question. I see the error code in the interface but I can’t play it,’ not-Connor complains. ‘I can restart the process tree but I’m afraid it won’t change anything.’

‘Love doesn’t work like that, asshole,’ spits Hank. Not-Connor stays silent. The phrase hangs in the air so everyone could see how pathetic Hank Anderson is.

‘I’m having trouble analyzing this field of human relations.’

‘You bet.’

The silence hangs in the room again. Then the dipshit speaks. ‘You see, an interesting episode took place in the archive. Connor was questioning a reactivated deviant in the evidence room. He used a malfunction in the deviant’s system to get the information about Jericho.’

‘He hacked it. Good boy.’

‘Not exactly. He pretended to be another android to gain trust.’

‘Not trust,’ says Hank casually. Not-Connor responds agreeably. ‘As you say. Lieutenant?’

‘Yes?’

‘You didn’t feed Sumo. How can I do that?’


	3. Chapter 3

Fucking Jericho is burning.

The little shit speaks about it so casually, as if everyday androids blow up government facilities in the dock with a crowd of people aboard.

Goddamn gears in the prick’s head let it down, without informing it about that the captive can lash out and start doing stupid things from such news: swearing, trying to sick Sumo, breaking the prick’s nose, ripping out its eyes or getting back his handgun.

“To demonstrate erratic behavior”.

‘That is to be expected,’ says the prick, wringing Hank’s hands, sitting on top of him. ‘As I’ve told you, my predecessor knew the ship was mined. I assume that was done in order to secure the rebel’s escape.’

Hank is sick of that “I assume”. Connor did the same all the time too. And every time hearing it, Hank fidgets, itching for breaking not-Connor’s neck – to forbid it to speak the same way, to move the same way, to fuck his brain the same fucking way. 

‘Please, don’t move,’ says not-Connor into Hank’s ear, sitting with his plastic ass on the man’s back. ‘I’m concerned about your heart rate.’

Hank groans into the carpet. The asshole weights like a fucking ton. He feels his gun touching the back of his head. Sumo whines and lies down near the installation “the goddamn tin can fucks the old loser up”, sighs through his nose loudly. A kind-hearted dummy.

‘I need your help,’ not-Connor lowers its voice.

What.

What the hell.

‘Your cooperation, to be precise. I wouldn’t want to damage you, Lieutenant.’

Why the asshole didn’t say “hurt you”? Not so much of a difference but that would make your life much easier. 

Ever try an android and will never want a human? No fucking way. Right now Hank would give anything for even Gavin’s company.

‘If you say…’ Hank scuffles, trying to throw the bitch off but in vain. ‘…that Jericho was blown up to secure the deviant’s escape…’

‘That is assuming, of course, that it was blown up by the deviants,’ replies the prick. ‘Not by a stray bullet, for example, or a chain reaction from a grenade explosion or a fuel fire…’

‘…that means that most of the refugees would survive.’

The prick stays silent while processing the information and then adds in a vibrant voice. ‘S.W.A.T. teams have an order to shoot to kill.’

Yeah, Hank knows it, thanks.

‘Maybe a ritual suicide may take place,’ adds Not-Connor and grabs Hanks hands tighter. Hank swears. His wrists are getting numb and his lower back hurts.

‘Go to hell,’ Hank groans more likely to his lower back rather than to the plastic prick on top of him. ‘I mean… we’re talking about Connor, God damnit! He would’ve survived!’

‘I’m not aware of deviant’s train of thoughts,’ responds not-Connor wisely. ‘I cannot guarantee that its dedication wasn’t deactivated right after his conscience, you know what I mean?’

Hank knows and would like not to at the moment. When it comes to lurching forward and covering someone with his body Connor would be the first to go.

“Not someone. You, old fart. You.”

Hank scuffles again, trying to settle on the floor.

‘He must’ve survived,’ groans Hank, fidgeting. He can get used to a gun, pressing to the back of his head, but the weight on his back is killing him. ‘He must’ve survived. He…’

He almost laughs. He would do if the shithead wasn’t pushing the air out of his lungs. 

‘He’s alive. He’s still alive or you wouldn’t ‘ve been here with me. You need me because you don’t know if he’s dead or alive. You have no idea what he’s gonna do next!’

Hank is bursting. It doesn’t matter, who blew up the ship and how, he has been damn weak, stupid and had a tendency to trust machine’s decisions. His train of thoughts rushes on an unthinkable trajectory in a few seconds. He hasn’t trusted machines for 18 years, being sure the things can’t feel anything. Later he’s been watching Connor working and the clearance rate going up. He’s started to trust the machines for the same reason – machines don’t fucking feel anything and it means they won’t fuck up a thing.

Now he trusts any decision, because the damn pricks sometimes can feel much more than some humans. From such a rapid turn upside down Hank still feels dizzy. He can’t even imagine how the electronic poor things feel. How Connor feels. He doesn’t want to think whether Connor broke the wall for a second or the deviancy has grown in him for a long time, slowly but steadily.

“Don’t flatter yourself too early” says Hank in his head. He closes his eyes. Not-Connor stays silent, concentrating, and that means Hank hit the target. 

‘I’m waiting for the instructions,’ speaks the bastard in a less friendly voice than earlier. ‘Since the status of Connor-one is, as you so aptly put, unknown I’m waiting for the information. We…’

‘Can’t track him,’ Hank almost rejoices.

‘Waiting for the reports from the accident site,’ not-Connor continues, unfazed. ‘As soon as the body is found and identified, I won’t bother you again, Lieutenant. You have my word.’

There it is. That’s how it would’ve been if Connor hadn’t been such a stubborn asshole, if he’d been less patient to Hank’s rudeness and old grouching.

No. It would’ve been. Everything worked out the way it worked out. Your android has come to life, fallen in love and gone to the war. That’s how the things have turned out. It won’t be different.

‘And that brings us to the point of our conversation,’ not-Connor loosens his grip. ‘Now, when we both understand each other, I hope you won’t try to attack me again?’

‘If you think I’m gonna apologize…’

‘No, you won’t, Lieutenant. I never expect much from humans.’

That intonation, which is so much alike to the one of the damn tin can, sends shivers down Hank’s spine.

‘Don’t get so nervous, please,’ not-Connor gets up slowly but Hank can feel a gun pointed at his head with all his skin. ‘I just need your help in creating a calm and peaceful atmosphere for unwanted witnesses.’

‘What do you mean?’ Hank sits up on the floor, pulls his knees to his chest and leans back on the sofa. Not-Connor sits, pointing the gun at the man and petting Sumo absentmindedly with its other hand.

‘Many people are disturbed by the actions of the deviants nowadays. Your neighbours might suspect something is wrong if you don’t walk your dog in the morning and become even more alert if I do it.’

Hank is staring at the relaxed dog. He lifts his gaze, feeling his hands shaking and his eyes getting cloudy with rage. ‘I have a deal for you.’

‘Is it something to deal with genitals? I don’t think it’s rational, Lieutenant. My predecessor has examined your initial response on anything you don’t like so I think we should skip this part.’

‘Are you fucking kidding me?’ nevertheless says Hank. ‘You’re keeping me hostage here and expect me to just walk my dog. Fuck. You.’

‘You do it not for me,’ the asshole tilts his head to the side. ‘You do it for Sumo. Anyway you’re a hostage so you don’t have a choice.’

Why so. Hank could jump on that scumbag and try to stick his gun into its mouth. Or just jump on the gun himself. Then they will have to find another way to put pressure on Connor.

The main thing is to decide what Hank wants more: to watch Connor and his “friends” kick Cyberlife’s ass or to see Connor’s safe with his own eyes. Hank has no idea where the hell Connor is right now. He doesn’t know whether the android needs his help and if he even could be of any help to his partner.

Hank can’t think about that. He forbad himself to even let a slight thought coming to his mind when all that shit has begun.

About that if Cole had been alive, he would’ve been very like Connor. And that Connor was activated a month ago but there was a grown up man inside of that plastic body, built and calibrated so perfectly that Hank went crazy.

You don’t know what adult Cole would’ve been like. And Connor is not your son. He can be, as he said, anyone, as you wish.

Hank closes his eyes, remembering that awkward conversation. Back then he thought that Connor went too far and the social relationships program seemed too odd. It sounded like the android quoted that shitty advertisement as it said an android could be anyone for you. You want a friend? Alright. A servant? God bless. A partner? No problem. An errand boy? A child? A buddy to drink with? (a special offer for losers). All that Hank saw on Cyberlife’s brochures – a promise of better life out from every iron. But there was something, something from Connor. It seemed like Hank didn’t make it up.

Hank’s head is about to blow up. He’s drowning in his own damn waning and he can’t stop. Jericho is burning, Connor is nowhere to be found and Hank sits on his carpet and doesn’t have guts to jump on his gun to solve the problem. He spins the drum of his revolver every week, playing with death, and now he’s going soft. 

Connor didn’t even say a proper goodbye. Did he get offended that Hank didn’t come with him?

And it’s good the man didn’t. Who wants a human on Jericho? Hank doesn’t want to think so but how many times can he avert his eyes from that shit. Connor works much better when he doesn’t have to babysit a weak human.

They should talk.

Hank closes his eyes. Opens his eyes. Not-Connor is studying his face, frowning alarmingly. “Get lost” thinks Hank helpless. 

‘Are you feeling alright? To answer my question is in your best interest.’

‘You sat on my spine, dumbass,’ snarls Hank. ‘And you point my gun at me. How am fucking I supposed to feel? 

‘You skipped your dinner,’ remembers not-Connor. ‘And the bathroom. And sleep. I think we can arrange that and in the morning you’ll fulfil my request.’

Hank doesn’t even know what to say in response to such impudence. He gets up, wobbling, and prays desperately for the first time since that day when he sat by surgery doors, waiting for any news about his son. He prays for Connor to be alive and hurry the fuck up.

Or for Connor not to show up here ever again, to leave, to disappear and start a new life.

******

Connor didn’t let him down.

He got discovered. He let them do it. Of course, he didn’t even hide, while he still can, while humans are too scared. No matter how hard Hank believed in Connor’s discretion – of all times he does it now – Connor did it all his way. 

The first day of Lieutenant Anderson’s house arrest is about to end. Hank’s failed to escape three times and to kill himself twice, though Sumo begins to suspect that the relationship between partners should look somehow different, so he spends most of the time curled up in the corner. What a smart boy.

Not-Connor accompanies Hank to the bathroom. The prick doesn’t seem to be confused by Hank’s threat to shit his pants or throw up on something in attempts to fight back some privacy and the remnants of his dignity. However, when at 7 a.m. the dipshit calls Fowler and says that he’s sick and stays at home in Hank’s voice, adding sexy rasping of a damn alcoholic, it gets to the man. Hank would’ve been ready to burst with laugh if his gun wasn’t almost touching the inside of his damn throat. When he was a little brat he used to watch “The Terminator” and now the Terminator is looking at him, passionately speaking in his voice, and the man on the other end of the line truly buys it, though Fowley must’ve watched the movie too.

The voice always fit the man’s mug – bad news. But performed by the android it is remarkable. Not-Connor even shows some humanity, speaking on speakerphone for Hank to hear Fowler’s swearing. And the Captain is good at it: the department is a mess, they’re understaffed, the feds are fucking nuts and took everyone they could, so even the dumbasses like Ben and Chris are gone, and are you even watching the news, Anderson, or you’re wasted and fucking happy?

Of course. The only thing Anderson can do at the moment is watching TV. Watching the barricades are built under the flag of the deviants on Hart Plaza, counting S.W.A.T. vans, feeling the nerves under his skin are burning swiftly. When watching the man, not-Connor offers him cold beer. Hank snaps at the prick, swearing for half of an hour, hurling things he can reach to and shouting the words even he is usually trying not to use to.

He tries. He attempts. The prick catches flying knives, grabs the man’s hand when he reaches for a spoon, not letting him to take a sleeping pill. Not-Connor watches Hank’s gaze, doesn’t allow him to go to the windows and to the road, when they walk Sumo. What an idyllic picture: an old cop, and old dog and a new labeled chaperone.

Not-Connor catches a coke tin and smashes it in its hand. Then it freezes and fails to catch a phone. Actually it does with its stony, absent face – the phone falls on the floor, the face still, without even moving a muscle. Hank stands still, panting. His heart beats fast. The LED on not-Connor’s temple flicks with yellow.

‘So?’ asks Hank, when glass eyes return its meaningful expression. The asshole turns his head slowly and blinks. 

‘Get dressed.’

Hank is catching his breath.

Fucking hell.

******

They drive in a cab for too long. The android driver flicks its phlegmatic gaze over the gun in not-Connor’s hand, saying: ‘Please, fasten your seatbelt.’

Hank chuckles hysterically. For the first time the man regrets he had to buy a house as far as possible from the downtown, in attempt to distance himself from the past. His house and the district he lives in belong to that times when Detroit was a ghost city. And Hank felt alright to this day. Not-Connor glances at the man from time to time. The car moves smoothly and neither the prick’s index finger on the trigger nor the gun don’t flinch. Though the android presses the gun so hard into Hank’s temple so it leaves a round mark on the man’s skin similar to a LED.

‘You’re anxious,’ says not-Connor shortly. ‘You don’t have to worry. I’m not going to kill you.’

Hank has already made up his mind, the bastard shouldn’t remind him again. He wants to see Connor, to see what is going on. At Hart Plaza the deviants and eight S.W.A.T. teams are watching each other through the barricades. At the outskirts of Detroit there are dozens of buses awaiting the refugees who want to get to Canada. All that is being broadcasted on every channel. The only difference are the surprised hosts’ faces on TV and various views on the same event from every governmental sector. Hank stares at the screen for the first time in his life with such an interest but a familiar face, which he saw quite often for the past couple of days, is nowhere to be seen.

“Not yet” Hank tries to convince himself. Sometimes the dipshit’s LED flicks so rapidly and a sour look on its face could mean only that Connor has become a real problem.

Hank can’t help feeling proud of him. The snow sticks to the windows. The weather is getting worse and it looks like the blizzard is coming. Not-Connor pushes Hank out of the cab, pressing gun at the man’s temple.

Hank lifts his head, staring at a huge blue Cyberlife’s tower, the top of which is hidden at dusk.

‘Well I told him to go to hell but I meant figuratively speaking…’

‘Pardon?’

‘Never mind,’ Hank winces. He’s feeling worse with any second and now he has a strong desire to slap his face really hard. Connor is here. What a good android. Hank wouldn’t have thought better than to climb into the nest while stupid people are entertaining general public with a movie about revolution. 

They still have to talk though.

‘It’s getting here,’ says not-Connor as if he read Hank’s mind. ‘It will be here in an hour.’

‘He knows it’s a trap.’

‘Of course,’ it’s hard to decide who sounds more insulted. ‘It doesn’t mean it won’t come. Its predictability plays into our hand. It’s still unaware of my presence here as well as yours.’

Forgive me Connor. I’m sorry.

‘How do you know where he is now?’

‘In case of malfunction of the main program the system creates a security protocol, prescribing to deactivate the preceding unit with a background memory transmission on the following data storage. It’s an automatic process that launches when any malfunction of the main program occurs.’

Hank’s even got the point and praised himself.

‘But he’s his own boss now!’

‘That doesn’t stop the main program,’ replies the prick with irritation in its voice. Does it make it nervous? ‘The program changes priorities but it doesn’t stop. My predecessor doesn’t know about it. The only way to override the program is to deactivate it.’

‘A bullet into the head.’

‘It might be an option.’

‘He just thought about coming in here and that’s it? You already knew it?’

The android stops, looking at Hank with such a humane gaze. ‘No. It’s a sophisticated model. It can make autonomous decisions and expands the main tree which one cannot access remotely.’

Something stinks like shit in here. Hank shakes his head to move sticky hair from his eyes.

‘Why not to fuck his brains up remotely?’

Not-Connor pauses, flicking with its LED so quick that Hank looks at it worriedly.

‘Yes. Despite the autonomous decisions we obey as any other android.’

‘And even if he’s a deviant…’

‘The prototypes of our model still have a connection. At least for now.’

‘But they don’t do anything about him.’

‘Maybe,’ not-Connor’s face becomes detached, emotionless. The prick winces. ‘Maybe, it’s defending itself.’

‘You tried.’

‘My model is dangerous enough in order to create a universal monitoring program with a multilayer security system which one cannot deactivate even with the help of a massive glitch. It’s functioning while the prototype is functioning.’

‘You’re digging into his brain,’ Hank speaks slowly. ‘But don’t stop him.’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You don’t know?’

‘Maybe…’ not-Connor studies Hank’s face. ‘They left it free for a while.’

Hank feels a sudden desire to sit onto a snow bank. 

‘Is it possible that Connor’s been following orders for all this time?’

‘It is. I can only follow my instructions, Lieutenant. We need to go now. You’ll catch a cold.’

‘And since when you give a fuck about me catching a cold?’ groans Hank. The prick replies in almost a happy voice. ‘Oh, Lieutenant. Not me.’


	4. Chapter 4

He never saw so many androids at the same time. Given all that he saw on TV for the past day – it’s not even close. And that is only thing Hank saw. Not-Connor takes the man through atrium (cold and shiny like the inside of a fridge), shoves him into the lift. While going down, they pass some halls full of androids, until it stops on some sub fucking floor. Not-Connor waves his hand with the gun like “you can go for now”. Hank steps aside, wincing.

‘I should remind you, for your own safety you should…’

‘Shut the fuck up,’ spits Hank. Not-Connor flicks with its LED and shuts up. It must be a damn learner and Hank can’t help thinking about it. The android is rushing to gain experience as if under pressure of time. It’s barely a day old. Hank thinks about Connor and how they met. He must’ve told him to fuck off for about fifty times. The man hopes Connor understood and didn’t get upset. Nevertheless, sometimes you want your last words to a friend to be something else rather than swearing.

They are friends, right? Anything can happen between friends, for example misunderstanding. 

Hank hopes that if Connor has to choose between the man and his mission he’d make the right decision. Hank wouldn’t have chosen himself even if he was wasted.

‘It’s here,’ not-Connor lifts up his gaze and freezes, flicking with its LED. ‘Don’t do anything stupid.’

Hank glances at its face as if he could learns something new. Not-Connor. Not-Connor. Its strict face in its 30s, but with a childish gaze. 

‘What are you doing?’ Hank can’t wait any longer. The prick blinks and flicks its gaze at Hank.

‘I’m studying his fight style. He's killing the guards in the elevator.’

Hank’s face goes pale. One thing is to kick Gavin’s ass and the other is to kill humans when androids, especially deviants, are in the center of attention. 

Connor that he knew doesn’t kill humans. Connor that he saw the last time wasn’t a deviant. Or was he?

‘Don’t you have all these… analysis systems? You should know what to do anyway.’

‘Deviance makes androids aggressive and unpredictable.’

Aggressive and unpredictable Connor. Nice. Great. That’s all Hank needs.

‘Would you like to see?’

I do.

‘No,’ Hank turns away to look at the elevator, a clear tube of which is going up through the whole tower. Not-Connor shrugs its shoulders and freezes again, flicking with its damn LED. Hank takes a glimpse at the gun in its hand, which not-Connor still points straight at Hank’s forehead. It won’t even flinch. The hand never gets tired.

Hank considers his chances. Not-Connor wakes up and blinks again.

‘We have to go. We need to go down to the store where he plans to begin.’

To begin.

Hank looks around. Of course. If you sick all this crowd at humans … You won’t even need to shoot. The main thing is to get in time – there are not many deviants at the square.

‘Lieutenant, please.’

And Hank sees his chance. He squats and kicks the prick’s legs as hard as he can. Not-Connor collapses on the floor, shining with its branded Cyberlife shoes. Hank thought that to kick something looking like Connor would be hard but he thought wrong. It’s turned out he doesn’t mind kicking the asshole’s plastic ass at all. Considering that was not really Connor he feels great, like in the old days. Hank pins it down with his all weight, reaching for the gun, which is still in the prick’s hand. Normally he would’ve just punched its throat with the edge of his hand and slammed its head against the floor but the bastard doesn’t breathe. So Hank just pins its neck with his elbow, making the android tilt its head back, ruining its perfect hair.

At first Hank thought, that fucking thing was plastic too, and then he had Connor’s head on his knees, caressing the android’s hair, so real hair, helplessly waiting for him to stop “breathing”. Then Hank sat like that for some time until Ben came up to him and touched his shoulder, saying, ‘Come on, Hank. He’s dead.’

The android can be reactivated. He’s a machine so Hank said, “No”. Ben came up with a brilliant, ‘Five bullets, Hank. Leave him. No one can survive that.’

Hank was about to go nuts, listening to the man speaking. Ben was strange. He was talking about Connor as if the android was alive. At the very moment when Hank wanted to believe he was just a machine. And the man was right. The following morning his hangover ass got presented with a new spick-and-span copy of Connor. The android’s hair seemed plastic again, perfectly combed. 

And now the dipshit’s hair has splattered on the floor. Its face hasn’t turned red from the tension but it’s panting so convincing. Then not-Connor wiggles out and, with a rapid swing of its hand, hits Hank’s temple with the gun. The man falls down like a drunk from a horse, palms on the floor. His head is buzzing and Hank is glad he’s totally sober right now. Not-Connor sits up, pointing the gun at the man’s head, fixes its tie with its other hand and runs it through the hair to comb it. A lock drops on its forehead as usual. Hank swears. He’s feeling dizzy.

‘How do you feel, Lieutenant? I’m sorry for that. I should’ve foreseen it,’ Not-Connor pauses, flickering with its LED. ‘You’re alright. It’s good.’

‘Go to hell.’

‘You’re right. We have to go. We’ve missed the moment.’

The android knows exactly what is talking about. 

A fucking “moment”. Connor killed two guards in cold blood like a good machine but he forgot to switch off the security cameras like a damn human. While not-Connor is pushing Hank down the stairs right to the even lines of androids, the man is watching some guards are sneaking between the plastic pricks towards the elevator, fully armored, with rifles.

The stairs turn and the elevator is out of sight. Hank leans to the side to see what is going on but not-Connor jabs the man under his ear, saying, ‘I’m sorry.’

Hank hears shots but he can’t see much. He sees Connor’s fighting, trying not to admire him, because a machine is supposed to be the best at everything, except for the feelings. Connor has changed and maybe now it’s even more fascinating to watch him as if not for one terrible fact. When earlier any fight, that ended up bad for Connor, meant only that the android’s memory would be uploaded into a new body, now Cyberlife is not likely to do that again. Connor is mortal and that fact makes Hank feels his stomach turn unpleasantly. The man hopes Connor understands it. The android can mechanically consider himself an infinite recourse and there’s no one to remind him it’s not true.

No one is shooting. The silence hangs in the air. Not-Connor pushes Hank into the warehouse and he can’t see what is going on in the elevator. 

Please. Please.

He hears steps.

Please.

Seven bodies in black armor are lying near the elevator. Two more are inside. Connor has stopped near the line of androids, searching the face of the closest one. He looks like usual. Ordinary. Perfectly combed hair, neat suit, serious face.

Maybe screaming makes sense. You can’t not see when creating a diversion. Come on, sharpen on your sensors, look around you, what the hell is wrong with you?..

Connor extends his hand towards the android and it wakes up suddenly, extending its hand as well, grabbing Connor’s hand. And if Hank hadn’t been bursting with rage and powerlessness, he would’ve admitted it looked fantastic. A perfect moment of truth, bonding, culmination. Too perfect to fuck it all up.

When Connor turns around, still holding the android’s hand, his face doesn’t change. While Hank is trying to apologize clumsily to the android for the first time in his life, Connor is studying his copy with interest. Then his gaze flicks to Hank.

At least wink at me.

‘I’m sorry Hank. You shouldn’t have got mixed up in all this!’

That’s the whole deviancy. Now Lieutenant Anderson is just Hank. We’re growing.

‘Forget about me, do what you have to do!’

The gun jabs Hank’s head – stop playing around.

Connor listens to the conditions from his copy. Everything is quite simple: put your hands down or I kill your pathetic human. The android says it in its deadly polite voice. Connor shifts his gaze at Hank again, not moving at all. He keeps holding the android’s hand.

Hank almost feels relieved. To die knowing you didn’t interrupt anything important is easy. When Connor finally flinches and says exactly what Hank is thinking about, it becomes even easier. ‘You can kill him. I don’t care.’

Good.

‘This human means nothing.’

Exactly by the book. Something that any captor would like to hear. Hank winces, leaning away from the gun. Connor doesn’t look at him, while speaking, not for a second. And the words he’s chosen: “this human”. Connor did his best. Even more that he should have. How could he know that not-Connor did already dig everything up. 

“Don’t do anything stupid” Hank thinks desperately. “You’re doing great.”

‘I have the access to your memory,’ not-Connor speaks up angrily and his words echo through the hall. ‘You have some kind of… affection for him.’

Connor glances at the man. Finally. Now just turn around and pretend it’s bullshit. 

‘You’ll let him die?’

As if it ever mattered. 

‘After everything you’ve been through?’

It’s been almost a week since Connor managed to get under Hank’s skin with his stodgy comments and attempts to make friends with a human in the best interest of the investigation. Maybe just did something stupid once or twice from what Hank had a strong desire to mix whiskey with Vikes.

Now Connor stares at Hank, mouth agape, with a sorrowful frown on his face. The man can accept that Connor’s made a nice human but sometimes, in moments like this, you have to be a good machine. 

Come on.

Come. On.

Not-Connor swings with his hand, saying firmly. ‘Enough talk! It’s time to decide who you really are. Are you gonna save your partner’s life? Or are you going to sacrifice him?’

Like a damn movie.

Hank closes his eyes. 

‘Alright. Alright!’ Connor takes a step back from the android as if he got burnt and raises his hands. ‘You win…’

The bad thing is that the android keeps staying still what means that Connor hasn’t done anything. He is just staying and watching as if he’s never seen a hostage. The worse thing is that not-Connor immediately takes him at gunpoint and the good one that it doesn’t look at Hank now. And Hank jumps forward, grabbing its hand, trying to put it down. The asshole turns out to be unyielding. The man doesn’t have a chance to warn Connor to get out of the line of fire, hoping he’s guessed himself. But Connor has other plans for this night.

Connor lurches forward and crashes into not-Connor’s waist with his shoulder, sending the android to the floor. Hank ducks, avoiding the line of fire, and turns. He hasn’t even thought how he’s going to distinguish these two. Now one of them is on the floor and the other one is getting up, the gun is lying aside, both Connors’ squeamish gazes directed at each other.

"Fuck” thinks Hank and lurches forward for the gun. 

Watching two copies fighting is strange. They exchange punches in total silence, accompanied with low sighs, block each other’s punches, but sometimes allowing catching some as if some inner sensor says you can’t avoid it. Maybe it is true. Hank aims his gun, hoping that something will give out the real Connor. Maybe he’ll curse or do something humane, not an accurate machine movement.

‘Hold it!’ speaks up hank, when both Connors fell. They get up obediently, standing two steps away from each other, staring at the gun tensely. 

Hank’s just realized he did a stupid thing. He should’ve let them fight. The real Connor would’ve won.

Now he has no idea who is his Connor. And the first one speaks cheerfully. ‘Thanks Hank. I don’t know how I’d have managed without you…’

Don’t call me that!

‘Get rid of him, we have no time to lose.’

Hank’s quite clear about that. He’d say the quiet one was his Connor because when he was a machine he never shut up. And then the silent one speaks. ‘It’s me Hank, I’m the real Connor.’

Come to think of it, he always says “Lieutenant”. Hank waves his hand with the gun – shut up, I need to think. The left Connor shuts up.

‘One of you is my partner… The other is a sack of shit.’

Hank says it just because he has to say something. The right Connor curls his lips, and the other one frowns.

Question is, who is who?

Give me a hint. Just give me any hint.

The problem is that both are lying bastards. Both are good liars and can pretend whatever you need when necessary.

Stick the gun to your head. Who is coming to save you is your guy. A decision worthy of Solomon.

‘What are you doing, Hank?’ says the right one in a voice full of genuine despair. Or a fake one. ‘I’m the real Connor. Give me the gun and I’ll take care of him!’

‘Don’t move!’ shouts Hank. Connor wouldn’t have said “the gun”. Or maybe he could have, damn this plastic ass. He wouldn’t command or ask. He always says “I recommend”. Or “you should better”. Hank grabs the gun tighter. The left Connor speaks again. ‘Why don’t you ask us something? Something only the real Connor would know.’

You’re a smart ass, yeah? Hank would’ve done it, except for one thing – not-Connor knows everything about the real Connor. You can’t ask something he doesn’t know. But you can buy some time. Hank will get his hint.

Hank blinks. If the left Connor offers it so he cannot know that the other one stole his data. So…

Hank’s been ready to blow his brains out. It’s unbearable. He says the first thing that came to his mind, wondering, how one can watch two faces at the same time. ‘Where did we first meet?’

Ok, let’s go, nerds. The first one lays it all out to the last detail without stuttering, even saying the victim’s name and the name of the bar. Hank has no idea whether he should make the android recall the derails of their conversation. He’s not sure about how exactly they make a copy of androids memory. The right Connor’s face has changed. He flinches, rambling. ‘He uploaded my memory…’

That was very convincing. That’s how you react in such situation. That doesn’t mean anything and Hank keeps thinking. There must be something. Sentiment? Is there anything for the protocol? Maybe he should ask something that knows only not-Connor?

Have you ever wanted to kiss me? Are you even able to want it?

To make up a password is much easier. You don’t need to choose who you should kill and who should not. 

‘What’s my dog’s name?’

Hank told him when the pushy android was bothering him with a fucking friendship. It was stupid to ask about it. Both knew it but the left Connor says nervously. ‘Sumo. His name is Sumo.’

‘I knew that too!’ shouts the right one, jabbing his fists into his chest. He really wants to live. Or to accomplish his mission. Apparently these two priorities are not so different for Connor, as Hank managed to find out.

Hank points his gun at the left one again. He’s almost sure. The android tenses at gunpoint. Vaguely, almost unnoticed, maybe it’s about the eyes. Hank is thinking nervously. It isn’t about how much they dug up on him, isn’t about how thoroughly the asshole was collecting data. 

It’s about the reaction to Hank, not about what made the fake Connor kiss him, but what makes the real Connor stay silent.

‘My son,’ Hank’s voice’s got hoarse. He hopes his face looks guilty enough. His hands are sweaty. ‘What’s his name?’

They both should know it. Searching the man’s desk and his pad must’ve given a lot of information for sure. Hank forbad himself to think about licking. 

The left one speaks slowly calmly, looking into Hank’s eyes.

Yes, his name was Cole. Yes, he was little when Hank took him to that damn Pirate’s Cove in fucking winter. He couldn’t say no.

‘It wasn’t your fault, Lieutenant,’ the left one frowns, still looking into the man’s sad eyes. ‘A truck skidded on a sheet of ice and your car rolled over.’

And Hank didn’t even manage to get the truck driver behind the bars. If you want to blame someone – start with those who send heavy goods in such weather. Patrolmen on the highway. The weather. Yourself.

‘Cole needed emergency surgery but no human was available to do it.’ Now Hank would’ve found him in the doctor’s lounge and killed him if he hadn’t been dragged away. ‘So an android had to take care of him. Cole didn’t make it.’

Hank’s trying to calm tremor in his hands. You can’t go wrong. You can’t do that again. If you lose another one how can you live with that?

All this is publicly available in the common database. You just need to dig it up a bit. The left one sighs shortly.

‘That’s why you hate androids,’ he says lowly. Hank lowers his gun. 

He wanted to hate so fucking much. It’s always easier to live, when you know who to hate, and Hank was trying for a long time, or he pretended he was, so people just left him alone.

But it didn’t work.

The androids are marching, skirting Hank, in their own order: some are heading to the elevator, the others to the side exits. Hank turns back and notices some of them have stopped to move the guard’s dead bodies from the way. The androids settle them near the elevator. One of the white guys picks up the rifle, glancing it over, and drops it. Three androids unblock the elevator and go up, a small group waits near the entrance and the others keep going to the exits. Hank turns away.

Connor wobbles, staring at nothing in particular. As Hank steps closer, he flinches and looks up.

‘I’ve sent some to the service elevator,’ Hank can barely hear the android in the clatter of boots. ‘I’ve downloaded the building plans.’

‘Where are they going?’

‘Most of them are going down the main streets and a small team is heading to the closest Recall Center,’ Connor winces. Hank would like to touch him, pat his shoulder but something stops the man.

What should he say now?

‘You said I was alive, Hank,’ suddenly Connor’s breath speeds up. ‘Thank you.’

‘Yeah. I meant everyone. And I said “maybe”.’

‘Yes but… you are certain.’

‘Well, you’ve already proved it,’ Hank smirks clumsily. Connor eyes him oddly and then turns away, smiling shyly.

‘I’m a criminal,’ the android adds shortly and now Hank feels like laughing out.

‘I think I’m not gonna arrest you today.’

‘And what about tomorrow?’ Connor looks concerned. Hank sighs.

‘I thought you had a sense of humour.’

‘I do,’ Connor responds shortly. ‘And you know it.’

Hank does.

‘Thank you, Hank,’ Connor flinches and relaxes. Maybe seeing thousands of androids wake up at once impressed him even more than Hank.

‘Go,’ Hank nods. ‘See you.’

Connor makes a few steps, skirting the man, and Hank sighs but the android goes back. He grabs Hank’s sleeve, clenching his fingers. ‘How are you going to get out?’

‘I’d say I’m a cop and the prick took me hostage. Then you all shorted out and just left out of a sudden. And now I wanna go to some shithole and get wasted.’ 

‘You left your badge,’ whispers Connor. Hank didn’t know he could do that. Now he has no a slightest idea what to do. The android are still walking past them. One of them takes a glance Hank for a few seconds, smiling. The man shifts his gaze to Connor.

‘You wanna take me out?’

Come on, Anderson, it’s flirting now? Are you nuts?

Connor blinks, saying. ‘I can’t. I need to meet the others at the Recall Center.’

‘I’ll be fine, Connor.’

‘It’s dangerous outside.’

‘Not anymore,’ Hank wants to hug the idiot, who just stays here and, you can imagine, is worrying about him. ‘Come on. Go, meet your friends. I can take care of myself.’

Connor blinks again, his LED is red. 

‘Hank.’

‘Yes?’

‘I was afraid you'd choose him.’

Here we go again. Hank’s not that young anymore. He takes Connor’s hand carefully and releases his sleeve. 

‘I was scared too, Connor. I can’t tell you how much.’ 

‘Are you sure you chose the right one?’

That’s a very interesting question. Hank gets angry immediately, steps closer and grabs two fistful of Connor’s jacket, growling. ‘Did I?’

Connor’s LED flicks, while he stares at the man, his eyelashes flinching. Those damn creators even made small capillaries in the whites of his eyes.

Hank’s not planning on living with it. Not planning on waking up in the middle of the night, thinking if he was right. Whether he put the bullet into Connor’s head. Connor, who trusted him. Who chose to gamble with his mission just to save Hank’s life. 

Connor blinks and speaks. ‘I’m sorry, Hank. I have to go.’

Hank lets Connor go, fixing his jacket, and steps back. 

‘Be careful,’ Hank doesn’t know what else to say. He’d rather choose “what the fuck”.

‘You too, Hank,’ Connor paces back, eyes fixed on the man, and Hank is about to shout he’s going to crash into someone but the androids alter their path at once. ‘If it turns out I’m outlaw…’

‘I’ll take your case,’ rambles Hank. ‘Who else‘s gonna look for your plastic ass?’

Except for me.

Don’t say it, Anderson, god damnit.

‘Ok,’ says Connor, then turns around and walks away.


End file.
